


Obvious as the Heart in Your Chest

by Vialana



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Minor Violence, Sparring, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 07:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11985285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vialana/pseuds/Vialana
Summary: During training, Keith accidentally injures Lance. Afterwards, he finds himself incredibly distracted by Lance’s subsequent scar.





	Obvious as the Heart in Your Chest

**Author's Note:**

> I originally planned to write this for Day 3 of Klance Week 2017, but Things™ happened. So, here it is now. 
> 
> Set sometime after the end of season 3. Enjoy!

It was an accident during training—the early days, when they were still learning each other and their weapons. Lance had lingered on the deck after group training had finished and asked Keith if he wanted to spar.

While Keith was always happy to train more, he was suspicious as to Lance’s motives.

“What?” Lance tried to look as innocent as possible. “A paladin of Voltron can’t want to improve a little?”

Keith just narrowed his gaze and took a long sip of water.

Lance sighed. “Fine. Allura’s like ridiculously strong, right? I just figured maybe I could give myself a bit of a boost, try and impress her a little. Maybe even get good enough for some one-on-one time?”

Lance waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Keith wrinkled his nose in disgust. Then he shook his head and smirked.

“Her comment about your hand-to-hand earlier really hit a nerve.”

Lance dropped the flirtatious act and scowled. “I’m a long range fighter.”

“You still might get into situations where close combat is the only option.”

Lance let out a heavy breath. “I guess.” He seemed reluctant to admit that Keith, and previously Allura, had a point. “Still, can you help a fellow paladin out?”

Keith smiled, sharp and full of teeth. “You had me at the offer to beat you into the ground.”

 

* * *

 

Lance was abysmal at close combat. Sure he was fast and coordinated and great at getting himself into tactically advantageous positions, but he couldn’t throw a proper punch, he flinched every time Keith got too close with his own punches, and had holes in his defence that you could swing a claymore through. He had no concept of using his rifle as a makeshift club and it was only chance that had him effectively using it as a shield against Keith’s sword one time.

He could kick, though, and, if he got enough space to work with, he was deadly fast at bringing his rifle to bear on a target.

Lance would never be a melee powerhouse, but he wasn’t incompetent and he was a quick study. He really  _ was  _ better suited as a range fighter, but Allura’s point still stood: everyone needed to learn how to effectively defend themselves and fight in close combat and hand to hand. Spaceship corridors were narrow and allowed very little opportunity for ranged attacks.

To his credit, Lance hadn’t complained much. He knew he had a weakness and was trying to improve.

Keith was almost impressed.

He knocked Lance to the ground for the twentieth time.

“Ready to call it a day yet?”

Lance wheezed, too out of breath to even groan in pain. “Gimme … two secs. I still got … a few rounds in me.”

Keith sighed, relaxing from his ready stance and letting his bayard disappear. He ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, grimacing at the locks stuck to his skin with sweat. “Look Lance, I really think we’ve done all we can today. I can be your partner, sure, but Shiro was going to be an actual instructor back at the Garrison and Coran taught in the army. Never mind that Allura’s practically our drill sergeant these days too.”

“What? You quitting again?” Lance got to his feet with a smirk, trying to goad Keith into responding.

“That’s not gonna work.” Keith glared as Lance shuffled closer. “Seriously Lance, we can pick this up again tomorrow, okay?”

Rather than giving in to the exhaustion that was clearly affecting his ability to think, Lance rushed Keith with a hoarse cry. Keith hated to admit it, but he was getting kind of tired too. He barely managed to materialise and raise his bayard in time to counter Lance’s wild swing with his rifle.

“Lance! That’s enough!” Keith pushed back and swung hard, aiming up to glance off Lance’s armoured torso and dislodging Lance’s rifle. The weapon flew across the room and settled into its inert state. Lance stumbled back and fell down, hissing and grabbing at his shoulder where his bayard had been steadied.

Keith looked down to see blood on his sword.

“Shit! Lance!” He vanished his weapon and fell to his knees beside his teammate, pushing away Lance’s hand to investigate.

“Easy there.” Lance winced as Keith brushed against the injury.

“Just … hold still. Let me see.” Keith took a deep breath and tried to keep his hands from shaking as he opened the tear in Lance’s suit further.

The wound wasn’t too deep but it was long—a clean cut to the skin of his shoulder, missing the tendons and ligaments. Lance was unlucky; Keith’s sword caught him in a gap between the rigid armour plates. Still, it wasn’t serious: it wouldn’t cause major blood loss or impact Lance’s movements significantly for any longer than it took to heal. But it would scar.

“You should get into a healing pod.”

“What? No, it’s not that bad. Wait, is it that bad?”

“Well, no, it’s not life threatening and you can still move your arm properly, yeah?” Lance  winced as he raised his shoulder to wave and prove he was mobile. Keith pulled the limb back down, ignoring the way Lance’s pained hiss made his stomach sour. “Stop that! You’ll make it worse. As it is you’ll probably scar.”

Lance relaxed at the diagnosis, leaving his wrist in Keith’s firm grip. “It’s fine then. I’ll just wrap it up and keep it clean. Do you think it needs stitches?”

Keith shook his head. “No? Maybe. It’s shallow. Probably stings more than anything.”

“Yeah.” Lance started to get up and Keith helped him to his feet, refusing to let go until Lance was properly steady and holding his injured arm tight to his chest to try to reduce movement strain.

“I’m sorry.”

Lance looked at him, eyes wide. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

Keith gestured wordlessly at his bloodied shoulder.

Lance laughed. “Dude, I’ve done worse training back at the Garrison. And surfing. Almost sliced my knee up getting too close to some rocks one time. This’ll heal.”

“Lance, I hurt you.” Lance should have been furious, not staring at Keith like he was an idiot.

“We were  _ sparring _ . Not exactly the safest pastime.” He grinned. “Besides, chicks dig scars.”

“What?”

“It’ll make for an awesome story.”

“That’s …” Keith shook his head. He couldn’t understand Lance’s flippancy. “Lance, I don’t … why aren’t you angry?”

Lance’s grin faded as he took in how confused and upset Keith actually was about the whole situation. He stood up a bit straighter and looked Keith in the eye.

“We were training. I was the one who asked you to fight. And this? This is just proof that I’m improving.” An altogether different grin crossed Lance’s face, something dark and hungry. Keith had to repress a shiver as he stared at the unfamiliar twist to Lance’s features. “It means I’m getting good enough that you had to fight hard enough to do actual damage.”

He looked incredibly satisfied by this revelation and Keith had to swallow and turn away, his stomach churning with guilt about the whole situation—but also with a strangely thrilling feeling of desire.

He understood what Lance was saying. Fighting at a level high enough that your opponent was focused on nothing and no one except you. Drawing blood, doing damage, taking hits from that kind of fight: it was exhilarating. Keith didn’t think anyone else could have understood that part of him that craved that kind of connection and thrill.

But here was Lance: sporting a grin Keith had only seen in the mirror; dripping blood and riding high on the adrenaline of a hard fight. Keith wanted to see more. He wanted to keep pushing, keep fighting, to watch Lance fall apart. He wanted … 

Keith didn’t know what he wanted.

He reached out and grasped Lance’s uninjured shoulder, grounding himself with the sensation of another warm body touching his. He cleared his throat, trying to get his thoughts back in order.

“Well, even if you won’t go into a pod, Coran should still take a look at your shoulder.” Keith pulled his hand away once he had his thoughts and feelings under control.

Lance sighed. “Yeah okay.” He started walking toward the door to the training room. “It’s too bad though. I would have had you next time.”

Keith snorted, heart settling into a more natural rhythm now that they were back to more familiar banter. “Keep dreaming.” He watched Lance gesture rudely before waving as he left the training deck.

He’d think about his strange reaction later when Lance wasn’t around to distract him.

 

* * *

 

The first time Lance exposed the new scar around Keith was a few weeks later after another group training session. Pidge had showered quickly first and left so that she could get down to the engine room to help Coran with something. Hunk was going to join them after making a snack, so he was in the shower. Shiro was already dressed and heading out to meet with Allura to plan their next wormhole jump. Keith and Lance dawdled in the locker room.

Rather,  _ Lance _ dawdled; Keith was stuck listening to him boast about their final group maneuver.

“Dead-centre, Keith. No way anyone else could make that shot.”

Keith hummed. It was an impressive shot, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

Unfortunately, Lance had been around him long enough now to recognise his non-verbal cues and grinned at his reaction.

Keith rolled his eyes and started tugging off his armour. “I’ll be more impressed if you can do it consistently.”

“I’ll take that challenge.” 

Lance’s grin was infectious and Keith struggled to keep a straight face. So he hid his smile by turning his body away and stripping down. When he turned back, his expression was under control—or, it would have been, had he not turned back to see Lance had also stripped to his underwear.

Lance started talking again—more bragging, judging by the tone of his voice—but Keith was suddenly not listening at all.

A faint silvery scar ran diagonally across Lance’s shoulder, bisecting his brown skin with a thin neat line. Keith inhaled sharply as he realised it was from the wound he inflicted during training before.  _ He _ had been the one to mark Lance’s skin so sharply and cleanly. (And  _ permanently _ .)

Keith’s mouth felt dry. He wanted to reach out and touch it—wanted to know if it was cool to the touch like it looked instead of warm like the rest of Lance.

“Awesome, huh?”

Keith’s attention snapped back to Lance’s face as he spoke. Lance had followed his line of sight and curled his hand over the scar, thumb running down the mark. Keith was close enough to see the way the fine hairs on Lance’s arm raised as his skin bristled at the light touch. Keith’s gut clenched as though Lance had trailed his fingers over  _ Keith’s _ skin instead of his own.

Keith cleared his throat. “Yeah, I guess so.” He felt uncomfortable all of a sudden, too hot and flushed. His skin felt tight and over-sensitive. “Sorry, again.”

Lance waved the apology away. “No sweat. I don’t know what you were so worried about. It didn’t even hurt that bad.”

Keith shrugged, still unable to meet Lance’s gaze. “Well, I promise I’ll be more careful next time. Don’t want to mar your skin any more, especially since you take really good care of it and everything.”

Lance tilted his head, as though confused by Keith’s flustered rambling. Then he smiled, a wide toothy grin. “Promise you won’t go too easy on me?” He winked and Keith blushed almost automatically in response.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good.” Lance stretched, arms rising high above his head, torso lengthening and hips rocking forward as he arched his back and loosened up. “It’s no fun unless we’re both drenched in sweat.” He winked again with a flirty grin then headed into the shower room, high-fiving Hunk as they passed each other in the doorway.

Keith exhaled shakily, face still burning so hot. He had no idea what just happened but he knew he couldn’t let it happen again. He turned around and tried folding his suit and stacking his armour (nevermind that he’d never done so before) so Hunk couldn’t see his embarrassment or guess at what had him so flustered.

He’d give Lance a few minutes then he’d go in and take a cold shower to cool down. And then he planned to avoid Lance for the rest of eternity.

 

* * *

 

Avoidance was difficult when they were called upon to form Voltron and save the universe regularly over the next months. However, it was all too easy to focus on battles and trying not to get killed instead of whatever weird feelings Keith was starting to develop for Lance. Being a paladin didn’t leave much room for anything else in their lives.

Time passed and Keith grew used to Lance’s flirtatious nature in the same way he grew used to Lance’s argumentative side and his random acts of kindness and solidarity. His feelings for Lance became just another part of their slowly deepening relationship (albeit a secret part) and he didn’t think too much about it. He was more concerned with the revelation of his Galra heritage, and then with defeating Zarkon. Then finding Shiro. The alliance. Lotor. The Black Lion. The comet. Shiro, again.

Keith’s life was full of feelings for all sorts of things. Lance wasn’t—couldn’t be—that special.

But every so often, Keith would catch a glimpse of the scar and he would remember the heat of Lance being close to him, the two of them sharing the same air, the feeling of Lance’s skin under his gloves. He would remember Lance flaunting his body and winking at Keith.

He got caught out every time Lance took off his shirt or tugged on his collar in the heat or even just sat slumped in such a way that his shirt slid down his collarbones so Keith could see the edge of the silver scar. His gaze would always linger too long to laugh it off as just idle curiosity and he would spend too much time dreaming of the next glimpse of skin.

(Okay, so, maybe Lance  _ was  _ that special.)

Lance always smiled when he or someone else drew attention to Keith’s staring but Keith never reciprocated, looking away with flushed cheeks or clearing his throat and changing the subject. Lance seemed perfectly content to leave things to the status quo. But, over time, it became maddening to Keith.

He wanted to touch it—touch  _ Lance _ . Run his fingers over every inch of his soft skin. Press his lips to the scarred ridge. Whisper  _ ‘I did that’ _ into his collarbone. Push Lance to the floor and just breathe him in. He wanted Lance to think about him every time he saw that scar—wanted Lance to think about Keith  _ touching  _ him when he brushed his long fingers over it. He wanted Lance to stare at his naked chest in the mirror and imagine Keith’s arms wrapped around his torso, mouth pressed against his shoulder. He wanted Lance to dream of him—to moan Keith’s name in his sleep. 

He  _ wanted _ . He wanted everything. He wanted  _ Lance _ . 

Keith knew it had to be written all over his face.

And Lance just smiled.

 

* * *

 

The team had a mission that went bad. Not terrible, but bad enough that they had to retreat from a fleet of ships that had appeared almost as soon as they finished retrieving all the prisoners from a base that should have been too small and isolated for the main fleet to be concerned with.

But then, Lotor was proving to be a difficult enemy to predict.

So, while they did get all the prisoners and some raw intel from the base, they couldn’t completely decommission it like they had been with most of the bases the Blade had sent them towards. They put up a good fight against the fleet as they pulled back and Keith proposed pushing forward and dealing with the fleet right away. But Lance reminded him that the prisoners were their priority and Keith didn’t even think twice about calling for a retreat instead.

Shiro was in a shuttle with the prisoners instead of watching over from the castle with Coran. Allura and Hunk guarded the shuttle from fighters as Shiro made his way back to the castle while Coran picked off the larger vessels aiming ion cannons. Pidge, Lance and Keith took a more active role in distracting the fleet from their retreat and Keith relished the opportunity to do some damage even while pulling back.

They were almost ready to call up a wormhole when Red got hit with a nasty blast from a cannon.

“Lance!” Keith couldn’t help the panic in his voice, the others weren’t far behind him in crying out their concern.

“I’m fine!” His voice was tight and he didn’t open a viewscreen.

Keith hesitated but let it go. The battle was almost over anyway. “Okay, just pull back a little. Allura should be at the castle by now.”

“Heading to the control room now,” she said, a little out of breath.

“Good. Shiro, are the prisoners secured?”

“Shuttle is docked,” Shiro confirmed. “I’m taking them up to the med bay to be checked out once we’re out of the system.”

“I’ll be right there to help,” Hunk offered.

“Thanks.”

“Nice work Hunk,” Keith said. “Lance, Pidge, retreat back to the castle.”

“Roger that,” Pidge said.

“You got it.” Keith couldn’t help but notice the strain in Lance’s voice and the fact that Red looked a little unsteady as she flew back to the castle. But he trusted Lance to tell him if something was seriously wrong even if they were almost clear.

A few fighters gave chase, but Keith quickly dispatched them before they could even get close to the castle. As soon as he and the others touched down in the hangars, he felt the familiar sensation of Allura readying the castle for wormhole travel.

“Everyone good?” he asked, just to make sure.

“All lions secured,” Coran confirmed. “I’m making my way to the med bay to see the rescued prisoners now.”

“And I’ve plotted a course for a safe location,” Allura said. “We should arrive shortly.”

Keith let out a breath and sank back into the seat inside Black’s cockpit. “All right. Good work everyone. We’ll meet up in the control room as soon as Coran has made sure the prisoners are okay.”

Keith listened to the team’s affirmations on autopilot. As soon as they were done he pulled up a private video channel. “Lance, I’ll meet you in Red’s hangar.”

On screen, Lance rolled his eyes but he didn’t argue. Keith could tell he was breathing heavily and holding himself too still. “It’s really not that bad.” He gave a token protest. “I just hit the console a little too hard.”

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem waiting for me to see for myself.”

“Whatever you want, fearless leader.” Lance cut off the communication.

Keith refused to let Lance’s breathless  _ 'whatever you want'  _ distract him from his concern. He disembarked from Black and made his way towards Red’s hangar.

Lance had made it out of his lion and was sitting on the ground near Red’s front paw by the time Keith arrived. A first aid kit, his helmet, gauntlets and chest piece were on the floor beside him and he was pulling down the black under armour as Keith crossed the hangar floor. By the time Keith reached his side he could see the red mark covering Lance’s shoulder that was sure to develop into an impressive bruise over the next few days.

Lance winced as he tried to pull the suit further down his arm.

Keith rolled his eyes at the sight. And people said  _ he _ was stubbourn.

“Let me.” Keith didn’t wait for Lance’s agreement before dropping to his knees beside Lance and opening up the kit. He pulled out the salve used to reduce swelling and bruising before helping Lance with his suit.

Once the suit was hanging around Lance’s waist, Keith applied the salve to Lance’s injured shoulder, doing his best to ignore the tiny noises Lance made as Keith massaged the thick gel into his skin.

They sat in near silence as Keith worked. It was comfortable—familiar—but also heavy with anticipation. They were close enough to breathe the same air. The skin of Keith’s hands tightened every time he dug his fingers into Lance’s shoulder.

He massaged his thumb into the old scar—Keith’s scar—over and over again.

The salve absorbed properly into Lance’s skin, already starting to work judging by the tingling warmth and smoothness of the skin, but Keith didn’t stop touching Lance. Not until he dug his fingers in too hard and Lance let out a choked off groan, deep and full of something very different to pain.

Keith pulled his hands back instantly, cool air rushing the fill the space and making him shiver. 

Lance whined at the loss of contact and reached out to grab Keith’s wrist before he could pull away completely. He turned to look at Keith, gaze hot and steady. 

Keith swallowed. “I …” He cleared his throat, trying to produce more than a croak even as he wondered what he could possibly say right now. Lance’s groan echoed in his ears and made him want to say things he couldn’t even admit to himself most of the time. All rational thought had fled; Keith could think of nothing but Lance’s dark blue eyes and silky skin and that damn  _ scar _ .

He didn’t have to say anything.

“I know you’ve been staring.” Lance’s voice was as steady as his gaze and thick with desire.

Keith’s eyelashes fluttered in response to the tone. That too-familiar clench to his gut returned, making his heartbeat speed up. “O-oh?”

“Hm.” Keith swallowed again as Lance hummed, dropping his gaze from Lance’s face to his throat as Lance shifted. His body was so fluid in its motions, enticing like water to a man dying of thirst. “It’s hard not to notice. That look in your eyes is … intense.” 

Intense was a word many others had associated with Keith before—rarely in a positive way. But Keith was absolutely certain he’d never heard it said to his face in that sort of breathy voice, anticipatory and desperate with want.

Keith was moving before he even realised it, lips pressing hard against the flushed heated skin he’d scarred so long ago.

Lance groaned again, shifting to make room for Keith to press against him and bringing his hands up to clutch at Keith’s back.

Keith couldn’t think about anything except the heat against his lips, the scent of Lance’s sweat filling the air around him, the sound of Lance’s quickened breathing hitching as Keith dragged his lips up to the junction of Lance’s neck and sucked at the salty skin. Lance’s fingers dug into Keith’s spine; he pulled them down and Keith whimpered against Lance’s neck at the muffled sensation—teasing thoughts of nails scraping raw red lines down his back filled his mind. Lance swore, shivering as Keith’s choked sounds vibrated against his neck and he gripped Keith’s waist almost painfully.

Keith felt like he was overloading; he was ruled entirely by instinct now, pressing his fingers into Lance’s skin—lingering touches on his naked chest, fingertips catching on his puckered nipples.

Lance gasped, flinching from the touch. Keith pulled back automatically but, before he could do anything or even react to Lance’s seeming distress, Lance grabbed him by the jaw and pulled him in for a bruising kiss.

Keith melted against Lance, practically in his lap now. He hummed contentedly at the slick slide of Lance’s lips against his. He reached up to run his fingers through Lance’s hair and hold him in place as the kiss deepened.

Lance scratched at the fastenings of Keith’s armour, not making much progress—distracted as he was by the press of Keith’s tongue against his own. He eventually gave up, content to hold onto Keith’s hips and pull him down as Lance bucked up.

Keith groaned at the hot press of their bodies sliding together, mentally cursing that his own armour was preventing him from feeling all of Lance’s skin against his own. He pulled back minutely to suck on Lance’s bottom lip, letting his hands fall from Lance’s hair to slap against his shoulders.

He had intended to reach around and undo his armour, but as soon as his hands hit Lance’s shoulders he let out a sharp yelp—a distinctly pained sound in contrast to the pleased noises that had previously filled Keith’s ears.

Keith pulled away entirely, ignoring the cool air surrounding him and the wet sound of their lips separating as he scrambled back off Lance’s lap.

Keith tried to catch his breath and his thoughts, staring at Lance—flushed and half naked and  _ injured _ . Lance himself was wincing, hunched forward and trying to curl up around his injured shoulder. He was staring at Keith mournfully, his lips red and swollen and his hair sticking up where Keith had clutched it to move Lance’s head around as he pleased.

Keith wanted nothing more than to crawl back into Lance’s lap and continue debauching him.

Instead, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“It’s just a bruise.” Lance’s voice was broken, soaked with arousal. Keith shivered in response to hearing it, doing his best to ignore what that tone did for his own aroused state. “I’m fine.”

Keith shook his head, refusing to open his eyes.

“Keith.”

Keith did open his eyes at that. Lance had sounded hurt.

That flushed pleading expression was gone, though Lance was still breathing heavily and made no move to pull his suit up to cover himself. He stared at Keith carefully, opening his mouth and then closing it again. He smiled, the heat fading from his gaze to be replaced by understanding.

Keith felt guilty all of a sudden. He opened his mouth to apologise but Lance interrupted.

“It’s okay.” It really wasn’t. “I get it if you want to back away for now, maybe freak out a bit.” How could Lance possibly know that was exactly what was starting to run through Keith’s thoughts?

Lance took a breath and straightened up from his languid pose. Bizarrely, it helped to calm Keith down, seeing Lance don a semblance of composure. Then Lance let his gaze meet Keith’s and his breath caught again.

“I do want you to know that I want this, though. I have for a while.”

Keith exhaled, taking in Lance’s pose—his still flushed skin, the suit hanging dangerously low on his hips, the steady gaze focused entirely on Keith.

“Me too,” Keith finally said, rushed and breathless. He couldn’t begin to hide how much he wanted Lance, not now—not ever again.

Lance smiled, satisfaction evident in his entire being. “Good.”

Keith inhaled once again and scrambled to his feet before he could get caught up in his overwhelming desire all over again. Lance just watched him with that teasing half-smile, not making a move to make himself more presentable even as Keith brushed down his suit as though trying to straighten it or brush away non-existent evidence of their previous frantic actions.

He looked back at Lance one more time and gestured toward the hangar door. “I’m gonna …”

“Sure.” Lance leaned back on his hands. The suit fell further down his hips.

Keith swallowed. “Are …” He cleared his throat. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“I think I can handle it from here.” As if to prove it, Lance reached up to his injured shoulder and brushed his hand over the healing skin, making sure to press his thumb to that damn scar.

“Okay! Good.” Keith turned around and practically ran for the hangar door.

As he reached the threshold, though, he paused and glanced over his shoulder.

Despite the provocative pose, Lance looked small and lonely in the middle of the huge room.

Keith couldn’t help calling out, perhaps in reassurance, “I  _ will _ see you later.”

Lance’s smile lit up the whole room with its happiness and Keith let that feeling wash over him as he left Red’s hangar.

_ Later _ , he promised himself. It was a promise he intended to keep.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome and you can also find me on Tumblr: [ladyvialana](https://ladyvialana.tumblr.com/)


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